


Once Long Lost, Twice Bitter Found

by SatiricalExile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Brock Rumlow Is A Decent Human Being, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, I have no idea what other tags to add, M/M, Mind Control, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic! Bucky x Brock, Stockholm Syndrome, implied past physical abuse, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalExile/pseuds/SatiricalExile
Summary: After decades of torture and pain, the Asset seeks comfort in the hands of the only man who had shown him a gentle touch in years. The hands of one Brock Rumlow. Despite warnings against his handling of HYDRA's most dangerous weapon, Rumlow continues to display his favoritism and lands himself in an inescapable situation.A situation in which he grants the Asset something that breaks through years of HYDRA programming; a name.





	Once Long Lost, Twice Bitter Found

> It was the same job he’d completed many times before. Simple, easy, routine. Deep breath in, out, and fire.

 

The man speaking at the podium collapsed as a resounding panic gathered within the crowd beyond the stage. His job was finished and it was time for the illustrious Fist of Hydra to regroup at the rendezvous point before his handler got antsy.

 

Brock Rumlow was a man feared by many, the Asset included. But their relationship was simple; so long as he followed the rules, he would be treated kindly and he would be protected from the STRIKE team. A silent agreement the two shared and due to that, their bond had strengthened. To think it had all begun with such a gentle touch, the first one the Asset had felt in years. One of his few memories resided in the fear that resonated from Rumlow the first time he’d approached the Asset; fresh off the ice, confused, and sharing the terror. Yet somehow, despite the dead scientists at his feet, ignoring the blood staining the Asset’s skin, Rumlow had managed to bring him back down. Calm him, even. That grip on the back of his neck steady but comforting, one he’d come to grow familiar with.

 

It had been an odd turning point for the Asset. Many of his handlers had come and gone, the only one he commonly recognized enough to put a name to the face being Pierce. But with his position not only within HYDRA or SHIELD but within politics, he couldn’t be around as much as HYDRA, as much as the Asset, needed him to. For the first time in years, Rumlow had become the constant that the Asset had craved to grow attached to. A guarantee to be treated well. While the Americans hadn’t handled him nearly as roughly as the Russians did and while Pierce did his best to make sure the Asset wasn’t subjected to anything that would damage him permanently, he knew that his primary handler wasn’t truly concerned with his well being. The Secretary was merely focused on keeping his favorite toy working as long as possible and, much to the dismay of the scientists on the team, that meant keeping the psychological damage to a minimum. After all, memory wipes could only suppress so much.

 

Arriving back at their temporary base of operations, the Asset found himself in desperate search of his handler. Being around the STRIKE team alone without Rumlow, or even Rollins at the very least, caused an odd anxiety to gnaw at his bones. Something he shouldn’t have felt and he knew it, making sure to keep fidgety reactions under lock and key. The last thing he needed was for Pierce to question the strength of his programming.

 

Upon returning from his main objective, he’d located Keller and Lomack quickly. The two of them had been carrying on a conversation that the Asset wasn’t concerned enough to listen in on. Further inspection showed him that Sloan, Decker, and Reed were huddled beside the transportation unit as if trying to seep warmth from the vehicle. Briefly, the Asset wondered if it truly was that cold out. He guessed being constantly in and out of cryo had numbed his nerves to the sensation.

 

With all other agents accounted for, that left Rumlow and Rollins still nowhere to be found and the Asset had not a single clue where to look for them or if he was even permitted to do so. The orders he’d been given were clean cut; eliminate the target, return to base. It was customary for him to report to his handler but not always necessary. So, he waited, albeit apprehensively.

 

By the time Rumlow had shown his face, Rollins trailing not too far behind, the Asset couldn’t stunt his relief, physically relaxing when his handler had come into view.

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Lomack questioned as the STRIKE commander lit up a cigarette.

 

“Some special business for Pierce, that’s all.” He muttered, glancing up to meet the Asset’s gaze.

 

“Awh, what is it, Rumlow? You get promoted to handler and all the sudden your Pierce’s new favorite pet? Too good to tell us what’s up?” The tone used was clearly playful, the Asset was able to gather that much, but he could also tell that his handler wasn’t in the mood to deal with Lomack’s antics— something that should’ve been clear enough from the cigarette in his mouth. It was something the Asset had picked up on in his short time working with this man.

 

Brock Rumlow only smoked when something had gone wrong.

 

With a single glance, the lower officer seemed to understand that Rumlow wasn’t going to deal with such teasing and he settled, mumbling something under his breath to Keller as the two of them continued to chatter.

 

Taking the time to approach the Asset, Rumlow had tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath the toe of his boot before leaning close to his charge’s ear.

 

“I got somethin' for ya.” He muttered, leaving the Asset to reign in the excitement that pooled in his belly. It was a constant battle for him to bite back his emotions. Emotions that he shouldn’t have had because he was a weapon, not a person. Emotions that Brock Rumlow so easily coaxed out of him despite years of complex programming.

 

For a brief moment, gunmetal blue met deep sienna before Rumlow sighed and called over his shoulder that it was time for them to load up and head to the drop zone. There was no reason for them to stay any longer, their job had been finished.

 

If the Asset were to be honest, transportation with Rumlow as his handler had become a lot more comfortable. Previously, he’d always be stuck in that god awful seat, specially crafted to keep him strapped down. But with Rumlow, he was given an inkling of trust, he was allowed to sit as the others did, if sitting unrestrained at his handler’s feet counted. The Asset didn’t know if it was a precautionary measure or a display of power but he appreciated that the sense of claustrophobia provided by that awful glorified car seat was no longer present. Instead, he sat quietly, legs crossed with his hands comfortably wrapped around his ankle. While they road, the STRIKE agents spoke comfortably among themselves, Rumlow making casual conversation with Rollins as he drove. STRIKE’s second in command had always been the best driver out of the lot, afterall.

 

Sometime halfway through their journey, the Asset had felt Rumlow’s fingers card through his hair, tugging tangles loose, and scratching at specific places that had him all but melting into his handler’s touch. It was something that the STRIKE team had ridiculed him for but despite this, he tended to snarl some half-hearted threat their way before continuing. Perhaps it was therapeutic for him in a way, no matter, the Asset couldn’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.

 

Leaning into his handler’s every touch, eventually the Asset given in completely to rest his head against Rumlow’s knee, eye’s drooping in his fatigue. The mission itself hasn’t been strenuous, it was the waiting. Hours upon hours of laying stiffly, shoulders trembling to support his weight, hips angled uncomfortably to keep him as flat against his vantage point as humanly possible for a man of his size. The physical strain tended to take a lot out of him and usually, he wouldn’t be allowed to show it. But this, among other things, was something that had changed when Rumlow had come around.

 

“He’s like a little dog whenever you’ve got him.” Decker commented, a chuckle leaving him as he spoke.

 

“Yeah, it’s weird,” scoffed Reed. “The world’s most elite assassin just, docile as a lamb. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

 

“Don’t think he couldn’t snap and kill us all at any moment.” Keller warned and the Asset could feel his handler tense for a moment before relaxing once more.

 

“He won’t.” Was all that Rumlow had to say. Luckily, the team trusted their leader with their lives to the point that the single phrase given was enough to bring them comfort and the conversation shifted once more. Whatever it was, the Asset chose to ignore it in favor of drowning himself in the attention. Something he’d come to realize when working with Brock Rumlow was that seventy years without such a tender approach had left him desperately touch starved. All it took at that point was a few gentle pats and the Asset was sure he’d kiss the ground that his handler walked on.

 

The rest of the ride to the drop zone was easy, the conversation failing to land on him again much to his relief. It didn’t take longer than sixty seconds for the entire STRIKE team to transfer from one cramped space to another as they’d loaded into the quinjet for their ride back to D.C. The Asset knew he’d be put back in cryo until the next mission required him. He'd likely be wiped beforehand and tucked away until HYDRA once again found a use for him. Maybe some of those pesky emotions that had clawed their way out would be muffled again and he could find peace in being what he was made to be; a machine. It was easier that way. Not many good feelings had settled in his broken mind. It was usually fear, anxiety, or something that made him jittery and uncomfortable, something that called his focus away from the mission and risked failure. If anyone knew that failure was not accepted, it was him. Failure meant pain.

 

_Pain yields focus._

 

It was something Rumlow stated often, mainly when one of the STRIKE members had acquired a non-lethal wound of some kind. Though never directed at the Asset, he still found it to be a rather useful piece of advice; what better motivator to pay attention to a mission than an injury? None, he assumed.

 

Once again, he’d found himself at his handler’s feet, focusing on nothing in particular and resting his weight against Rumlow’s leg. After what he would’ve estimated to be an hour, the commander shifted, this motion shaking the Asset from his blissful daydreams before he could feel something knocking against his head lightly, twice in succession.

 

Grabbing at the item he glanced up, a glint of confusion snaking through his gaze before he looked down at what was presented to him. He’d recognized the red, white, and blue logo as it sat boldly on the dark brown backdrop.

 

_Snickers…_

 

Looking back up at his handler, he stared in awe as Rumlow merely smiled, shaking his head and leaning down to press a kiss into the Asset’s temple before sitting back in his seat.

 

“Eat it quickly before someone catches me breakin’ the rules.” Despite his words, there was an amused lithe in the man’s voice that comforted the Asset as he’d torn open the wrapper to indulge in the small luxury. It was merely another reason for him to enjoy Rumlow’s presence.

 

After reveling in his small snack, Rumlow had disposed of the evidence by merely shoving it into his pocket and calling it a day. Something the Asset knew he could never pull off and despite knowing it was easier for anyone not in his place, he still found himself amazed with how recklessly his trusted handler chose to break the rules on his behalf. Even though his vague memories were anything but clear, he knew that Rumlow had done similar things in the past.

 

Once again resting against the man, the Asset allowed himself peace, closing his eyes to rest. Though, before he was actually able to sleep, a hushed conversation caught his attention enough to keep him conscious.

 

“Ya know,” Rollins voice had almost echoed in the previously silent space. “Doin’ shit like that for him is just gonna cause problems?”

 

“Not if I don’t get caught.” Rumlow responded easily, seemingly unaffected by his SIC’s words.

 

“What happens if you do?” Rollins prodded, a wariness clear within his tone that clearly wasn’t reaching the STRIKE commander in the way he wanted it to.

 

“Then it’ll be worth it,” The snort in Rumlows voice seemed cocky, maybe a tad too at peace with the decision. “The way they treat him, Jack, it’s awful. I know HYDRA is all about how the ends justify the means, about making sacrifices but—”

 

In an instant, the silence returned but rather than the comfortable way it had blanketed the group before, it now laid heavily upon them. Suffocating but inescapable until the handler had found the proper words.

 

“This wasn’t their sacrifice to make.”

 

For whatever reason, this struck a nerve in the Asset and he found himself wondering what exactly Rumlow meant by that. Not their sacrifice. What sacrifice had been made and who was suffering the consequences? A sneaking suspicion told him exactly what his handler was going on about. But what Rumlow said sparked a thought process; cogs and gears in his mind that had lied dormant for decades began to shift, tearing apart the cobwebs and unsettled the dust that once had lied there. Twitching for a moment, he huffed, sitting up to support his own weight and effectively startling his handler in the process.

 

“Woah,” Rumlow chuckled. “What’s got you up?”

 

The tone used was gentle, something to keep him calm. Despite the way Brock treated him, the Asset knew that he was still seen as a threat. A savage dog that could turn on them at any moment. He remembered those times in blind fury, an unfathomable anger burning white hot within him and finding only physical release to soothe the hurt. Now was not one of those times but the Asset somehow felt a similar desperation within him for a relief. Relief that would only come to him in the form of whatever explanation would ease his wandering thoughts.

 

Turning to look Rumlow in the eyes, the Asset’s gaze had grown sharp and determined. For what felt like the first time, the idea that he may have been more than what he’d been led to believe had bloomed within his mind. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been more than just a weapon, more than that feral dog. And so, he aimed to prove it to himself in a single question that, as far as he could remember,— which wasn’t much— had somehow failed to cross his mind before.

 

“Who am I?”

 

Silence. Unwelcomed and rage inducing silence seeped between every crack it could find, thickening tension until the Asset could feel it like a heavy smoke in his lungs. Not once did he break Rumlow’s stare, owl eyes looking at him in the same dread that filled the expression of a soon-to-be dead man. Though somehow the Asset knew that Rumlow wasn’t afraid of _him_. No, he was afraid of the consequences. The repercussions of overstepping his bounds.

 

“I can’t tell you.” Those words left his handler with a hesitation that told him Rumlow had been contemplating giving him a proper answer and all he could do was press further.

 

“I _have_ to know.” The Asset stated plainly. “Who was I?”

 

This time, his words were not phrased as a question but more so a demand. It meant that there was something more to him, more than a wild animal. For the first time, the Asset felt himself wondering, felt himself excited at the proposition that he was something more than what was presented to him. But Rumlow merely shook his head, looking away with defeat overtaking his features and the Asset couldn’t help it when his entire body sagged at the realization that he wouldn’t get the answer that he so desperately needed.

 

“At least tell me my name.” There was a hopeless despair, a pleading cry that tore from his strained voice that he wasn’t expecting but was too shaken up to dwell on. That single phrase had been uttered with more raw emotion than had left his mouth in nearly a century, something both he and his handler realized.

 

After yet another deafening silence constricted around his head, pressing against his ears so hard he felt they would pop, he heard his handler speak again.

 

“Bucky.” Was all he’d stated, his voice so quiet that the Asset hadn’t been sure he’d heard it until Rumlow re-established his own words. “Your name is Bucky.”

 

A sigh of disapproval had sounded from Rollins and in his peripherals, the Asset— no _Bucky_ — had seen the man shake his head all the while uttering a small declaration of “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

 

The rest of their journey was quiet, a small comfort in his mind, and throughout it he no longer rested against his handler. No, he was far too thrilled with this new information to relax. He just sat, staring forward as he’d fallen back into thought. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, but surely, something was resurfacing within his damaged mind. The ghost of a memory slipping through the cracks just enough for him to recognize it— to recognize _him._

 

A blonde man, reaching out to him and calling his name. _Bucky._

 

It was so simple but it felt so right, it felt as though with a single word he’d been able to travel back to a place that had cured his sickness for a home long lost. One that he hadn’t even realized was resting so heavily on his exhausted mind until that very moment. It was chicken noodle soup on a cold night, not for him but for that same blonde man. It was back alley confrontations to defend the only person that seemed to occupy his new memories. It was an undying need to protect, to cherish, to _love_ the only person he recognized as a gentle touch besides Brock Rumlow. But above all else, it was something more.

 

It was hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna start off by saying I have no idea where this came from but I got inspired by another fic I was reading from a line about Rumlow giving Bucky a candy bar and now we're here  
> This could become a multi-chapter thing if anyone shows interest in it? If not, it works as a stand alone but I dunno, tell me what you guys thought. I might just turn this into something more, which hopefully I can and I do because that summary is very much lacking. 
> 
> Anyways here is my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/who-the-hell-is-nines) if anyone wants to keep up with occasional fic updates or mostly me making dumb text posts and crying about my undying love for Pietro
> 
> Thanks for checking out my fic! I really hope it was worth the read!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Однажды потеряв, ты дважды с горечью найдёшь. (Once Long Lost, Twice Bitter Found)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272243) by [Merla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merla/pseuds/Merla)




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